


Hunger

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Monsters!, More characters as they appear, Vampires, Werewolves, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-08-07 00:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Prompto Argentum is an MT, one of the lab-created vampires of Niflheim, built as a nigh-unstoppable weapon in the war between the empire and the werewolves of Lucis. Now in hiding, Prompto has to keep his origins a secret from his friends at all costs.For a prompt on the kinkmeme!





	1. Chapter 1

When Noct shows up at Prompto Argentum's apartment, dressed in black and denim like a bewildered poet lost in the suburbs, he finds the door locked for the first time in weeks. It's a small place--just the upstairs of Prompto's parents' house--but it's almost a second home to him now. There's the neon sign he and Prompto stole from a condemned nightclub at sixteen, hanging from a nail and softly broadcasting, "Gir, irl, Grls!" There are the fairy lights pinned to the window, the rancid gym shoes airing on the outdoor stairs, and a small bowl set aside for the family cat, Sasha, who's never around when Noct wants her. Noct sighs and turns to head back down the stairs, but stops at the sound of a muffled yelp from inside. Something thuds against the wall, the neon sign shakes, and the door slams open.

"Hey," Prompto says. "You're early."

"Please put on pants," Noct says. Prompto grins, all teeth, and runs a hand through his wild hair. His bright green jogging shorts are almost as luminescent as the sign on the wall, and his skinny legs are lean with muscle. 

"And let you miss the show?" He disappears into the dim light of his apartment, pale limbs flashing, and Noct slips by the door. There's an awning over the doorframe that blocks the sun--Prompto's always been a bit of a cave troll, even for a guy who pretty much lives at the gym--and half the windows are plastered with cheesy movie posters, ranging from romances to action flicks to _Attack of the Bee People_. It gives the windows an almost stained-glass effect, tinting what little sunlight filters through with shades of orange and grey.

Prompto stumbles over a dumbbell and grabs a pair of black skinny jeans from the bed. "What's up?" he asks. He turns around to peel off his bike shorts, and Noct looks at the ceiling. "Up for a game tonight?"

"Nah," Noct says. He sneaks a glance at Prompto's painfully bare ass, then away. "We're doing the full moon at my place this weekend. Thought you might want in."

Prompto pauses, his fly still unbuttoned. "Aw, you know I'm always kind of weird around full moon, Noct."

Weird is an understatement. Prompto's been avoiding full moons since he and Noctis met, it seems, finding every excuse in the book not to show up for the Change. It's not like everyone in Lucis has the ability to go full wolf, anyways; It's mostly the old families that throw out the proper lycanthropes these days--Some people shift halfway, or can only turn into wolves on the full moon. Noct's heard of some people who don't change at all (His great uncle was one--he just had to shave three times a day) and it's nothing to be ashamed about.

Still, being a werewolf who can't shift isn't _really_ Prompto's problem. Prompto's problem lies elsewhere, in his dimmed windows and long sleeves and the wristband he never takes off, in the fridge packed with energy drinks sealed in tight containers, in restless feet shuffling at a door, waiting to be let in. But he'd rather eat nails than admit it, and Noct's not about to ruin things by scaring him off.

"Prompto," he says. "Please. We need someone with opposable thumbs."

Prompto smiles wryly. "I do give the best ear scratches known to man."

"And you can open the fridge," Noct says. 

"It's true." Prompto struggles to keep a straight face. "I have many useful skills." He sighs at Noct's pointed look and grabs a discarded shirt. "Alright, fine. I'll go to your creepy moon ritual."

"It isn't _creepy,_ " Noct protests, as Prompto pulls on his gloves. 

"You guys always make a thing out of it," Prompto says. "My moms just poof into wolves and we go running."

"We're not all fitness freaks, Prompto," Noct says, shoving a beanie over Prompto's eyes. Prompto sputters and pushes him lightly, and Noct has to brace his foot on the carpet to keep himself from being shoved into the wall.

"Yeah, says the guy who can use five million different swords," Prompto says. Noct scoffs, and Prompto scoffs back, rolling his eyes dramatically. They groan and snort at each other as they leave, digging into deeper and more horrifying reaches of mock sarcasm, scaring Sasha the cat off the stair and into the safety of Prompto's apartment. Noct pretends not to notice the way Prompto's skin goes pink in the sun, or the way his breath hisses between his teeth when his sleeve rides up, revealing a piece of his wrist. Instead, he walks on Prompto's left side, blocking off the worst of the setting sun, and guides them down side streets between high buildings, where shadows criss-cross into a false twilight.

When they reach the glass doors of Noct's apartment complex, Prompto waits at the mat, fiddling with the band around his wrist.

"Come on in," Noct says. Prompto closes his eyes for a second and crosses the threshold.

One day, Noct thinks, as Prompto wrenches off his beanie and shrugs out of his jacket, he won't have to wait at the door anymore. One day, he'll be able to walk in, just like Noct can walk into his place, without having to stop like he's hit a brick wall in the middle of the carpet. One day, he wont even think about it, because it'll be _his_ place, too, and no one needs to be invited into their own home. Not even people like Prompto.

 

-

 

Whatever Noct has to say about it, Prompto knows that the full moon for the oldest werewolf clans in Lucis is always going to be fucking extra as hell. He comes into Noct's apartment--having to be invited in _twice_ is always a pain, an awkward reminder he doesn't need--to find Gladio half naked and plastered with gold paint like some kind of statue of an old god in a museum. There's even a sparkle to his hair, which means when he shifts, he'll be the wolf equivalent of Sasha when she rolls in the remains of a glitter bath bomb in the tub. He bares his teeth at Prompto-- _Mine are sharper,_ whispers a small, terrible part of Prompto's mind--and strikes a pose.

"I played the Founder King in Iris' school play today," he says. "Figured I'd keep the costume on."

"Half the costume," Ignis drawls, from where he's sprawled out on the couch. The full moon always makes him exhausted. "Gladio means _half_ the costume."

"We're keeping it chill, though," Noct says, and his words are more of a warning than anything. There aren't really alpha wolves in Lucis anymore than there are alpha wolves in nature; Werewolf clans run like massive families more than anything, with all the dysfunction and bickering to match. Which means that what these three have is a small family of their own, and Noct has, somehow, firmly positioned himself as the _dad_ of the group. It's all the fishing, Prompto thinks, smiling to himself. Soon enough, Noct's gonna start dressing in plaid and building decks.

"I'm the definition of chill," Gladio says, his abs glittering softly. 

"Of course," Ignis yawns. "We aren't _animals._ "

Prompto drums his fingers on his thigh. It's easier to be close when they're out in the open, and the fans aren't blasting the scent of wolf in his nose. It tugs something in the heart of him, the bestial, snarling creature that sent him staggering through the southern groves of Insomnia, where his mothers found him draining the bodies of birds and hapless squirrels. They thought he was feral--a wolf gone rogue, the human part of his brain twisted up in whatever trigger makes werewolves what they are, but all it took was one look at his sharp, pinkish fangs for them to know what he was. The fact that they brought him home anyways, wrapped up in a tent tarp with his mouth open to bite, so desperate to feed that hunger was all he'd become, was the kindest thing anyone could have done. Prompto knows that he won't find anyone like them again. 

So when the hunger beckons, when all he wants is to tear and rend and rid the room of all signs of life, Prompto fidgets and pushes it down.

"Gladio," Ignis says. Gladio looks up, startled, and grabs a green apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. Prompto catches it, lightning fast, and sinks his teeth into its flesh with a satisfying crunch.

"Fanks," he says around it. "Starvink."

"Yeah," Gladio says, and winks. "Thought so."

"Noctis," Ignis says, raising a hand like a duke calling on a servant for tea. "The ovens."

"Fuck." Noct jumps to attention. "Prompto, help me with the pies."

Prompto bites a chunk out of his apple and darts into the kitchen, beating Noct by a good ten seconds. The first night of a full moon is the best, arguably. On the first night, the moon is still gibbous, not quite the siren's call that it is the next day, so that means that the more traditional clans tend to hole up in their homes and _cook._ Kitchens fill with bread and pastries and a dozen different kinds of meat, sauteed vegetables and enough rice to feed an army, and on solstices, gifts of candy are set aside in little plastic bags for the kids. Prompto's moms used to try and make a feast day out of it when Prompto was little, but they work two jobs each these days, and they had their big dinner a week before. Besides, Prompto doesn't really need to eat much.

It helps to have something to bite, though. And, despite what some of the horror stories say on the news about Nif vampires tearing through the Lucian army, garlic just makes the taste a little stronger. Prompto does tend to get a rash afterwards, but it's a sacrifice he's willing to make.

"Prompto, I'm making your steak rare," Ignis says, despite the fact that he's lying on the couch with his feet on the armrest. "No onions."

"Best friend ever," Prompto says. Noct shoots him a wounded look from over a pie tray, and Prompto snickers. They set out four pies--meat, vegetables, and two berry pies with ridiculous leaf motifs--and Noct whips out the pastry brush for the glaze. Ignis manages to drag himself to his feet to pull out the steak, and when he does, Prompto wobbles a little on his feet. There have been times when he's drunk directly from the deli bag before, and despite the fact that he's been chugging contraband blood for the past few days, he has an overwhelming urge to grab the bag from Ignis' hands and go to town. He bites the apple again instead, but it isn't the same.

"I don't have to cook it, Prompto," Ignis says. Prompto nearly chokes on the apple.

"Dude. It's the full moon. I'm not feral." He smiles weakly and points at the oven, and Ignis shrugs. He tries not to stare at the bloody bag as it's thrown in the trash. "Shouldn't you guys be doing this at home, anyways? Doesn't the king do some kind of..."

"He does," Noct says. "Him and half the city. We never really get to do this the old fashioned way, Prompto. Ignis' moms and dad are, uh."

"Eccentrics," Ignis says smoothly, still preparing Prompto's steak. There's blood on his hands. Prompto stares at his long fingers as they curl around the hilt of a knife. "My parents think it's shameful to Change in company. Our dinners are brief, we Change in the Changing Rooms, and we're all properly guilty about it." He flashes one of his rare smiles.

"And my family has the same problem as Noct's," Gladio says. "You're the only normal one out of all of us."

"Yeah," Prompto says. He watches Ignis wash blood off his hands, and the beast inside him stirs, terrified and furious and hungry, _hungry._ "You got that right."


	2. Chapter 2

The sight of three properly-raised nobles trying not to inhale a four course meal on the full moon has to be the most hilarious thing Prompto's witnessed in his life. His parents don't bother with etiquette; They buy finger-food for a reason, and table manners have never been a staple of the Argentum family in the first place. But Noct's trying to control his bites, Ignis is using all his willpower to hold a fork, and Gladio looks like the Earl of fucking Lucis, even with his shirt off and his shoulders flecked with glitter. 

Prompto sets his fork aside and grabs a chunk of potato--extra seasoning, thank gods for Ignis--and pops it in his mouth. _He's_ a commoner, even if he isn't a wolf--nobody cares how _he_ eats. The others watch him with barely restrained envy as he mops up the juices of his steak with a roll.

"Fuck it," Noct says, and rips a piece of chicken apart with his fingers. It's... a little disgusting, actually, how quickly Noct tears into it, but even Ignis sighs and gives up the pretense. Prompto sneaks a shot on his phone of Ignis sucking sauce off his fingers, and Noct steals the phone to send it to himself before Ignis can object. 

"So there's this thing our parents do," Gladio says. He's the only one still using cutlery. "It's official. King and shield shit."

"Oh my gods," Noct whispers. Gladio shoves a bread roll in Noct's mouth to silence him, and Noct chokes around it. Prompto smacks him on the back a little too hard--he can't always trust his strength, even now--and Noct tips over his water. While Noct scrambles to mop up the mess and Gladio cackles, Ignis grabs his plate, takes the rim of his cup in his teeth, and stalks off to the living room.

"Beasts," he mutters, and scarfs down half a croissant with an enthusiasm that Prompto's only really seen in the better class of raccoons.

In the end, Gladio press-gangs Noct into reenacting the royal first night opening ceremony, which involves the king being hunted through the halls of the Citadel by his own court (Gladio demonstrates this by wrestling Noct in the kitchen, tackling him again in the foyer, and then almost breaking the TV in a mad rush for the guest bedroom). His shield does... something, apparently, but Prompto's too distracted by the fact that Noct's face is pressed to Gladio's pecs, trailing a smear of glitter over his cheeks, to figure out why Gladio is howling dramatically. Ignis almost howls back, coughs, turns beet red, and disappears into the kitchen for coffee.

Noct gets the upper hand by shoving Gladio's face aside, then tries to wipe the worst of the glitter off his neck.

"Right," he says. "So that happens. It's supposed to be about the king being a servant to the people or something."

"Dad uses it as an excuse to act like a kid," Gladio says. "He and the king keep trying to _bite_ each other."

"My parents find it rather distasteful," Ignis says, from the safety of his can of Ebony. "All that business with dressing up like the wild hunt on solstices, and the fact that he Changes in front of everyone. It's like using the bathroom in public. Their opinion," he adds, when Noct shoots him a look. "Not mine."

"You know, I bet _you'd_ make a nice wolf," Gladio says, and Prompto freezes. "What do you think, Noct? Like a big golden retriever."

"Gladio, don't be a dick," Noct says.

"What?" Gladio shrugs. "A guy can't be curious?"

"I don't really, uh. I don't Change," Prompto says.

"Neither does my cousin," Gladio says. "See? I can be sensitive as hell, Noct."

"Yeah, except most people don't go right out and _say_ they're being sensitive."

"Prompto," Ignis says, standing abruptly. "How would you like to step outside?"

Prompto, who has been trying to breathe through his mouth and think about how _unappetizing_ a shirtless, slightly sweaty Gladio could be, with limited results, jumps to his feet. Noct curses and shoves Gladio, Gladio shoves back, and the two of them go rolling across the floor while Prompto and Ignis weave around them.

The air on the balcony is sweet with sylleblossoms growing from the boxes on the railing, and Prompto leans down to breathe them in. Ignis stays downwind, adjusting the collar of his shirt, while chaos descends in the apartment behind them.

"They're always like this before a full moon," Ignis says. His voice is almost too soft to hear. "I suppose they can afford to be."

"Good thing I don't have to deal with that," Prompto says. "I just get a little hungry, maybe."

So many wolves in the streets, he thinks, glancing down into the darkness. The scent of them everywhere. His mothers had to lock all the doors and distract him with popcorn and movies the first few years, and even then, there'd been times when Prompto nearly made a run for it.

"I go a bit, ah..." Ignis clears his throat. "You know that I tend to disappear around this time of month." Prompto nods. Ignis' absences are normal, though. Loads of people don't take the Change as well as others. "I'm not exactly at my best during the full moon. The word most people use would be, well."

Prompto notes the faint sheen of sweat standing out on Ignis' forehead, the way his hand clenches on the can of Ebony.

"Feral," he says. Ignis doesn't correct him.

"It's better in a pack," Ignis says. "The first time I went a little wild, as my father puts it, it was Noctis who backed me down. He's good at that. When he's nearby, the beast in your brain is quieter. Safer. It's why I'm so damn lethargic when I stay the week here. He's a reliable anchor." Ignis eyes Prompto sidelong. "Is there anything like that for you?"

Prompto grins, but it's more of a grimace than anything. "I don't really have that kind of problem," he says. 

"Of course. You've merely been hiding away every full moon because you're out running with your mothers."

"Hey, I am."

"Who work alternating shifts." Prompto's teeth grind together. "Prompto, I'm not a fool, but even if I were... I'm not a proper werewolf, not like Gladio and Noct are. Oh, my family has been bred for it--" He draws himself up, his voice taking on a singsong edge, "--Children of the moon, scions of mankind--but I'm the unfortunate mistake that comes along once a century or so. More wolf than man. It does come with a few perks, however."

In the darkness of an Insomnian night, Ignis' fangs gleam in a toothy smile.

"I could smell a vampire with my head shoved in a sack of onions, Prompto," Ignis says.

The bottom falls out of Prompto's stomach. He looks up, his hand clutching the rail so tight that the metal bends under his fingers, and backs up half a step. "What."

"It took me a while to figure it out," Ignis says. He's still smiling. "I've never smelled anyone like you before." It strikes Prompto, suddenly, that the door to the balcony is still half open, and the sounds of Noct and Gladio scuffling have died down. Prompto risks a look their way, and spots them still tangled up in each other, quiet and watchful.

He tries to remember what his mother suggested, back when the thirst felt like a creature clawing at his insides, and they had to call out sick from work to hold him and cover the windows with black garbage bags, blocking out the light. Breathe. Search for a heartbeat. Remember you're alive. None of it works. He can feel his fangs pricking against his lower lip, and Ignis is so close, he's so close and his whole body is trembling with anticipation because there's a wolf, _there's a wolf right there--_

"I should go," Prompto says. "I should've gone years ago."

"I'm glad you didn't," Ignis says. His hand slides along Prompto's neck, and Prompto feels the drag of nails too long to be fully human as Ignis' eyes go strange and grey-green, as his hair bristles and his shoulders straighten, muscles straining the lines of his crisp white shirt. He presses a thumb to Prompto's upper lip and reveals a fang, sharp and long and decidedly unwolflike.

"Why, Prompto," Ignis says. "What great big teeth you have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You KNOW Ignis is the one who makes all the terrible werewolf jokes. Even when he's trying to talk down a vampire.


	3. Chapter 3

Prompto slams his hand into the brickwork behind him. The wall vibrates as his nails, unnaturally hard and sharp, dig into the brick, and he tries not to snap his teeth around the thumb pressed to his gums. He's going to die, he's going to drain Ignis, kill Gladio, and probably trample Noct to death on the way out, then Noct's dad is going to deploy the entire Kingsglaive to hunt him down and Prompto's going to _die._

"Ignis," someone says, their voice worming into the fog of Prompto's mind. "What the fuck."

Ignis pulls away, and Prompto licks his lips. He can taste Ignis on his tongue, and gods, _gods,_ all he needs to do is reach out and drag Ignis in by the neck and it's all over. His hands twitch behind him, and dust and rubble slides into his guest shoes.

"I was _trying_ to lighten the mood," Ignis is saying. 

"Yeah, good job with that." Noct slips through the balcony door, his shirt disheveled, his hair a mess, and Prompto's gaze locks on the veins trailing up his bare wrist. Yeah. Yeah, that's fine. Staring's fine. He has it under control. 

"Okay, Prompto," Noct says. "I'm staying right here."

Prompto drags his gaze up to Noct's face, and he frowns at the way Noct's left hand is lifted, his palm out, shoulders hunched. "What?"

"You were growling," Noct says.

"More like grinding," says Gladio. "Like a fucked-up car."

"You and Iggy aren't allowed to talk anymore," Noct snaps, and Gladio rolls his eyes. "Come on, Prompto. Think for a second. How many times has one of us shown up with an umbrella when we go out?"

Prompto blinks, trying to force his mind to focus on what Noct's saying. An umbrella? What does an umbrella have to do with anything? Sure, the guys usually have one, especially in the middle of the day, but Noct and Iggy are weird about their skincare, right, and loads of people use umbrellas to... to keep off the sun...

"And Gladio's always got something to bite," Noct says. 

_But Gladio's on a diet,_ Prompto thinks. They go to the same gym and everything, and Gladio's been smuggling apples and peaches in his gym bag for years. It's his thing. Gladio's the Fruit Guy. Prompto bought him a screen-printed shirt about it just last year.

Prompto slowly lets go of the wall.

"We've known forever," Noct says, and he takes a step closer. Prompto bites his lower lip, and winces as his fangs slice the skin. "We don't care."

"You should," Prompto says.

"Yeah, maybe," Noct says, "but you know me." He darts in and grabs Prompto's wrist, but he isn't strong enough to do more than lift his hand a few inches. His fingers slip under the band Prompto keeps over his tattoo, and he's close enough that Prompto can see the flecks of violet in his eyes. "Come on, man. My dad gets naked and runs through the Citadel once a month. I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to have a friend who drinks blood on the regular."

Prompto opens his mouth to protest, and Noct lets out that little huffing sound he usually makes when he's about to slough off the veneer of whatever makes him a _prince_ and suggest something truly ridiculous, and kisses him.

Prompto should be thinking a number of things, right now. Like, _shit, where do I put my fangs,_ or _Noct is kissing me and I kind of want to tear his throat out and suck on his tongue at the same time,_ but all that really comes to the forefront of his mind as Noct deepens the kiss, kneading at Prompto's hair, is that _One day, Noct's gonna be king, and he's gonna have to run naked as a wolf through the Citadel, being chased by Gladio._ A glittery Gladio, probably. Prompto snorts, and Noct pulls away with a wounded look.

"Oh my gods," Prompto says, half laughing, and drags him back in to kiss his jaw. Prompto's fangs nick the skin, and he shudders as the copper tang of blood blooms on his tongue.

"It's cool," Noct says. "You won't hurt me."

Like he has a choice. Like Prompto isn't strong enough to snap his neck without thinking. Like Prompto wasn't _made_ for that, like he doesn't have to hold himself back every time he passes someone who's gone full wolf in the street, like he doesn't have to have breathing exercises and his moms don't send him meditation videos on his phone before the full moon. 

"Dude," Prompto says, speaking into his best friend's neck, "I kind of want to, I don't know, kill you twenty percent of the time."

"Yeah? What about the other eighty?" Noct's hand slides down Prompto's back.

"Right now? Whatever we're doing here," Prompto says. He pushes away, and Noct's eyes are almost entirely violet, now, something of the wolf he'll become. 

"We can keep doing that," Noct says. He glances back at Ignis, who is red in the face and hunched next to Gladio, avoiding Prompto's eyes. "I think that's what Ignis was going for, anyways."

"Wait." Prompto squints. "That was Ignis coming _on_ to me?" 

Ignis covers his face with both hands.

"Hey, he _bit_ me," Gladio says. "In the locker rooms. Hello, Gladio, would you like to come to my place, by the way, how about a _neck wound._ "

"It healed," Ignis mumbles. Gladio strokes his hair, and Ignis shudders for a moment, his shirt stretching at the seams, and a wolf ear pops out from under Gladio's fingers.  
He shakes himself off, and Prompto holds a fist to his mouth as Ignis, a tawny wolf shoved in tight pants and a collared shirt, hobbles awkwardly into the living room.

"Sulking again," Noct says. "I'll calm him down before he pees on something."

"He _does_ that?" Prompto asks, but Noct is already peeling away, stripping off his thin black shirt and dropping it over a box of sylleblossoms. Prompto's breath hitches as Noct steps out of his pants, and there's a moment where the world blurs a little, where Noct's on all fours and his legs aren't quite right, his jaw jutting forward, his eyes glowing violet as he shudders and shakes--

Then he's just a large, black wolf padding through the apartment at Ignis' heels. Ignis turns to snap at him in warning, and Noct jumps on him, rolling them into the hall. There's a yelp and a thud as pictures crash to the floor, and Gladio carefully rises to his feet.

"So this is..." Prompto runs a hand through his hair. "What was this dinner supposed to be? An intervention?"

"Sort of," Gladio says. He leans on the balcony railing. For a werewolf, he's weird about keeping his hair in check--Prompto's gone with him to waxing appointments after workouts more than once--but it means that Prompto gets to see every line of his muscles as he moves, the delicate feathers of his tattoo shifting. Maybe that's the point. 

"It was kind of an invitation, too," Gladio says. "You know. What Noct was trying to do."

"What, like a date?" Prompto asks. "You guys were asking me to--"

"We've been tryin'," Gladio says. "But you kept ducking out on us. We figured it was probably the vampire thing, so we thought we'd bring that up first, peel off the bandaid. You know."

Prompto leans against the wall. "No offense, man, but this has to be one of the worst seduction attempts I've ever seen."

"That's 'cause I didn't go first," Gladio says. He winks. "I have a killer smolder, you know."

"Right. I've seen it in action, on like, every girl in the city."

"Gotta keep in practice," Gladio says. He grins. "So? You wanna try it out? Noct's gonna be busy with Ignis for a while."

"Look," Prompto says. "It's not like I--okay, you're flexing your pecs on purpose."

"What?" 

Prompto lays a hand on Gladio's chest and slowly pushes him back a step. It feels... nice, almost, to be able to move him around like that. Nicer than he expected it to, anyways. He backs him up to the sliding glass door and presses a little harder, feeling the rapid beat of Gladio's heart under his hand. 

"You're afraid of me," Prompto says.

Gladio's grin twists a little. "Yeah, no."

It's a lie. Prompto's pretty sure that if he gets close enough, he could taste it. He slides his hand up to Gladio's neck and holds it there. 

"That's fine," Prompto says, and pulls him down. His teeth catch on Gladio's lip, and he sucks on the cut he's made, his body thrilling with the taste of him. "So am I."


	4. Chapter 4

There's never been a day in Prompto's life when he hasn't been aware of his own strength. He still snaps the door handle at home sometimes, and hugging his moms is a careful, delicate process. He can't just run up to someone and sling an arm over their shoulder unless he wants to break their collarbone, too, and he's never gotten close enough to anyone to know what it'd be like to fool around without dislocating a knee or draining someone dry.

Now, Gladio grunts as Prompto, groping on the glass door for balance, shoves the door off its hinges. 

"Sorry," Prompto gasps. Gladio's lips are wet--Too wet? How much is too much tongue?--and his eyes have gone glassy and dark. He shoves the broken door aside, and he and Prompto stumble into the living room. There's blood welling from Gladio's lower lip, and Prompto leans down to take it in his teeth, only for Gladio to twist under him and bite him shallowly under the ear.

Prompto shudders. If he wasn't half hard before, he's definitely getting there now, and the fact that it's taken a bite to do it should bother him a lot more than it does. Gladio grins against his neck and bites down again, harder this time, and Prompto digs his hands into the couch cushions. His hips jerk forward, and he rocks Gladio back on the couch.

"Wow, okay," Noct says, and Prompto chokes on air as Noct rounds the corner, completely naked and sporting a red ring of bite marks up his arm. Ignis is hurriedly brushing his hair back behind him, still red in the face, but now that Prompto can see the rest of him, it seems like his blush spreads down his neck and across his chest, as well. 

"I think we're overdressed," Gladio says, and Prompto, no longer able to turn rational thought into words, nods slowly. Gladio's hands work at his belt, and it strikes Prompto that there are probably things he should have done beforehand. There are rules to this, he knows, he can't just go from zero to sixty without some kind of prep.

"I know you've always wanted to fuck my tits," Gladio says, and Prompto smooshes his face with both hands, pushing up his cheeks.

"You're the best," he whispers.

He doesn't even bother taking his pants off all the way. Gladio's too distracting, his hands roaming up Prompto's chest, teasing his nipples, scratching his sensitive back, guiding him up to straddle Gladio's chest. Noct leans over the couch at Gladio's back and kisses Prompto over him, and Prompto groans at the slide of his cock over Gladio's pecs. Gladio pushes them up a little, and Prompto rocks into the cleft they make, mouth open, numbly trying to keep up with Noct. 

Noct bites Prompto, just a nip of the teeth, and Prompto hunches over Gladio as, oh gods, yeah, that's Gladio's tongue, his mouth is right _there,_ fuck--

"You're welcome," Gladio says, as Prompto holds his head down, coming on his neck with a groan. Prompto considers smacking him on the side of the head, like Noct does sometimes, but there's a fine line between playfulness and a full-on concussion, so Prompto settles for rolling off him, gesturing with both hands.

Then Noct's kissing him again, there on the floor of the living room, and it's nice and slow and lingering, just the slide of mouths and huff of hot breath on his skin. Noct's nails are longer than he expects, running lines over Prompto's chest, and he tries to make a rumbling sound in his throat that would be fucking adorable if he weren't also sucking a mark high on Prompto's neck. He bites down, and Prompto's cock makes a valiant effort to come back to life between them. 

"Who knew the vampire had a thing for biting?" Noct whispers, and Prompto rolls his eyes.

"Like you don't?" 

Noct looks almost troubled, then. There's something dark there, under the want that has Noct running his fingers over Prompto's inner thigh, something dangerous, and when Prompto peels back his lip to lick his fangs, he thinks he can start to see the shape of it.

"Dude," he whispers. "I'm not drinking your blood."

"Didn't ask you to," Noct says, and he blushes dark and inviting, the heat of life warm on his cheeks. 

"Don't have to ask," Prompto says. He opens his mouth, runs his fangs over Noct's skin, and Noct stiffens, eyes wide. "Freak."

"Pot, kettle," says Noct, and bites down hard on the juncture of Prompto's neck and shoulder. Prompto makes a low, strangled shout that surprises himself, and he reaches out numbly to find Ignis at his side, a hand on Noct's shoulder. He's staring at Noct as he licks over the bite mark he's made, and there's a need there, as well, almost desperate. 

"Uh?" Prompto manages to say, half speaking into Noct's mouth as Noct kisses him again. "Do what you want, d--" he makes a soft sound around Noct's tongue as Ignis kneels to take Prompto's cock in his mouth, and Prompto has to dig his hand in the floor to keep himself from touching Ignis.

A floorboard cracks. Gladio laughs from the couch, where he's stroking himself slowly, watching them, and Prompto unclenches his hand from the splintered mess he's made as Ignis, staring up at him through slitted eyes, takes him down to the base.

The floor isn't the only thing that's broken by the time Prompto, dazed and pleased and only a little bruised, staggers out of Noct's apartment the next morning. The bed's a wreck, just a bunch of feathers and foam in a broken frame, the kitchen table will hold the imprint of Prompto's hands forever, and Noct has a _bite mark_ on his inner thigh that probably won't go away for at least a few weeks. Prompto rubs the back of his neck, wincing at the barely concealed hickeys under his vest, and wonders if anyone will notice if a few deer go missing in the hunting grounds on the edge of the city. 

They don't. He's careful, and he buries what's left of them deep, and comes home to a fridge full of stolen blood and flirty texts from Noct, all increasingly urgent and about as subtle as a brick wall. Prompto grins and strips off his vest. He props it up in front of the bathroom mirror with his hand, snaps a picture, and sends it to Noct.

 _Selfie ;)_ he writes.

 _Nerd,_ Noct writes back, and Prompto can almost see the fond smile on his face as he types. _Come back for full moon run tonight?_

Prompto looks at himself in the bathroom mirror--whatever the rumors are about people like him, they got the mirror thing wrong at least--and examines a purple mark under his throat, pressing down with his fingers. He smiles, and his fangs flash under his chapped lips.

 _Yeah,_ he writes. _See you soon._


End file.
